


A Crown of Wishes

by valfreyja



Category: Daughter of Smoke and Bone - Laini Taylor
Genre: Baby!Madrigal, Baby!Ziri, Bonding, Childhood, Family Fluff, Flower Crowns, Gen, Pre-DOSAB
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-28
Updated: 2013-11-28
Packaged: 2018-01-02 21:21:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,279
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1061787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/valfreyja/pseuds/valfreyja
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A twelve year old Madrigal spends some time with Ziri, only five years old. Just some fluffy Kirin bonding time. There are flower crowns involved. Oneshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Crown of Wishes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LuckyZiri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuckyZiri/gifts).



    

            “Madrigal,” says a soft, sweet voice.

            Madrigal, twelve-years old, looks up from the collection of teeth gathered at her fingers. She doesn’t see anyone, and so she goes back to the teeth, back to carefully taking each one in her fingers and listening, reading their structure before placing them into the labeled jars pushed against the wall.

            “ _Madrigal_.” The voice comes again, making Madrigal jump, her wings twitching in surprise. Madrigal looks up again, and this time, she sees Issa, slithering into Madrigal’s tiny workroom.

            “Sorry, Issa,” Madrigal says, carefully standing up so as to not knock all of Brimstone’s assorted doodads and dangles hanging on the walls and stuffed into the room’s shelves with her wings. “I thought I just imagined you the first time.”

            Issa smiles at Madrigal fondly. Madrigal watches Nagini, the cobra coiled around Issa’s shoulders, peeks her head out from behind Issa’s neck. “Sweet girl,” she says, leaning down and brushing Madrigal’s unruly hair out of her eyes. “You work too much. If you keep it up, you’ll end up just like Brimstone.”

            Madrigal’s eyes widen. “You mean I’ll learn how to make wishes?” Making wishes is the one thing Madrigal wants to learn most. She’d asked Brimstone about 83 times already, and each time he, watching her with his intense gaze, simply gave her more teeth to sort or an errand to run. She’d even tried to ask Yasri, Twiga, and Issa, but they would also just give her more errands to do—or, in Yasri’s case, stuff a pastry into her mouth.

            Issa laughs. “Perhaps we’ll give you an answer when you ask us for the hundredth time.” She pinches Madrigal’s nose, and Sophia, the baby corn snake coiled around Issa’s wrist, whose skin glitters like rubies even under the workroom’s dim lighting, leaves a small kiss right on the tiny scar next to Madrigal’s nose.

            Madrigal makes a face, but she doesn’t mind Issa’s mothering. Her adoptive parents are kind to her—loving even—just as they are to their own children, but it is only here, in Brimstone’s shop, with its narrow corridors and cozy workshops that Madrigal really feels at home, really feels like she’s found a place where she belongs. She doesn’t remember her own parents that well anymore, and she’s so very glad she doesn’t have to pretend they’re still with her. So many of the orphans of the war find comfort in parents that aren’t there and haven’t been there for years now, and Madrigal never wants to become one of them, to experience the pain and longing that comes with losing her family ever again.

            “Take a moment and have tea with me, sweet girl,” says Issa, her voice full of warmth and affection.

            Madrigal nods, and even though she’s feels a little too old for it, nods and reaches for Issa’s hand.  Issa leads her out of the workroom and down a worn, warmly lit corridor into Yasri’s parlor, where the golden afternoon sunshine streams down through two arch shaped windows. The room is airy, the grey and blue mismatched couches placed strategically through the room, each one giving off the distinct airs of being used to the point of being loved. Issa and Madrigal sit down in a matched pair of armchairs in the very back corner of the room, between the last window and the dusty fireplace. A table with a tray holding cups of tea and sweet strawberry pastries sits between their chairs. Issa sits down in the chair, her thick tail curling around the chair like the snakes nestling around her body. Madrigal folds her slender gazelle’s legs under her and reaches for a pastry.

            “Mmmm. Did Yasri make these?” she asks, in between bites of pastry that tastes like summer and smells like heaven.

            “No,” says Issa, helping herself to a cup of tea and making sure Sophia didn’t get too interested in it. “Twiga did.”

            Madrigal nearly drops the pastry in her hand. “ _Twiga_?”

            “And I’ll thank you to be kind about it,” says another voice, from the entryway. Twiga stands with his arms folded, his giraffe’s neck fully able to stretch in the room. “I can do more than just make pretty necklaces, you know.” His voice is stern but he gives Madrigal a wink.

            She giggles. “They’re really good,” she says, helping her to another pastry.

            “Don’t eat too many, or you’ll get as fat as Brimstone!”

            “Twiga!” says Issa. “Brimstone’s not fat—he’s just—he’s just big boned.”

            Madrigal giggles. “If I get as big as him can I make wish—”

            “Madrigal,” warns Twiga, not for the first time today.

            “Sorry!” Madrigal’s face falls and she avoids looking at either at them. It’s not her fault she’s so curious, not really. Who wouldn’t want to know how to make their hair change colors or have endless pastries with just a few words.

            “Oh, honestly,” huffs Issa. Ophion, an old, graying sunbeam snake curled around Issa’s waist hisses softly. “Sweet girl, you’ll know when you need to know. There’s no sense in moping about it now.” She reaches out the hand crowned with Sophia and cups Madrigal’s down covered cheek for a moment. “Wishes are for days you don’t have the whole world at your feet.”

            Madrigal nods, knowing it’s best to just let it go for now. “You sound kind of like Brimstone.”

            Issa laughs. “Well, look at that—me, sounding like Brimstone! Perhaps I’ll get a set of glasses to go with my newfound wit.”

            Twiga, his head peeking out one of the windows, snorts. “And I’ll get a bigger room to work in—aaah, Madrigal, can you go open the door?”

            “Are you expecting someone?” asks Issa.

            “No,” replies Twiga, turning to look at Madrigal. “But I think she is.”

~*~

            When Madrigal gets to the doorstep she isn’t all too surprised to see a little Kirin boy standing there, a wilting, but sunny dandelion in his hand. “Hi,” he says, shyly. He is tall for his age, but he barely reaches Madrigal’s waist.

            Madrigal bends down to greet him. “Hi, Ziri,” she says, rumpling his already unruly hair. “What brings you here?”

            He thrusts out the dandelion. “I found this—do you like it?”

            Madrigal smiles, feeling a surge of affection for Ziri, one of the few remaining Kirin in all of Eretz. She takes the flower and twirls the stem. “It’s beautiful. Can I put it in my hair?”

            Ziri gives her a little nod and Madrigal tucks the stem behind her ear.

            “My, my,” says Issa, from behind her. “You came all the way here to give our Madrigal a flower? How sweet of you, child.”

            Ziri takes a step back, his wide eyes suddenly shining with fear. He watches the multiple snakes draped and twisted across the Naja woman’s body, a coil of colors that writhe and dance across Issa the way streams of water move across soft, fresh soil.

            Madrigal takes a look at Ziri, then back at Issa, then back to the little Kirin boy. “You remember Issa, right?”

            Ziri nods, still looking fearful, as though one of the snakes would slither over and swallow him up.

            Madrigal leans in close to Ziri, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “The snakes are there to protect us, just in case any nasty angels sneak into the workshop and try to steal Brimstone’s teeth.”

            Madrigal didn’t think it was possible, but Ziri’s eyes get even wider. “Really?”

            Issa also leans down towards Ziri. “Once, an angel tried to sneak in through the backdoor. He got past Twiga and Yasri’s workshops. But when he got to my room—oh, he ran into Dahn, up here—” she pats a python curled around her head, like a coil of dreadlocks twisted into a bun— “and SNAP!” —Ziri jumps— “Dahn had him in one bite. All that was left of the angel was a single toenail.”

            Madrigal grins. “Issa’s been trying to get Brimstone to let the soldiers take snakes with them to battle for years, but he just won’t listen.”

            “I didn’t know that,” breathes Ziri, eyes still as wide as Nitid on a clear night, but without any of the fear that was there before. “Do you think I could have a snake too—just in case?”

            Issa gives him her warmest smile, the kind she saves for Madrigal’s worst days. “We need them to protect the shop right now—Brimstone would be lost without them—but if you’d like, you can come back and play with Kulika here.” She strokes a grass snake coiled around her arm. “She says you smell very good for a little boy.”

            “Thanks,” mumbles Ziri, not knowing exactly how to take a compliment from a snake. Madrigal gives his arm a little poke.

            Issa touches Madrigal’s shoulders, and when Madrigal turns, Issa hands her a basket woven from reeds.

            “What’s this?” Madrigal asks, staring at it as though she’s never seen a basket before.

            “Sweet girl, I told you earlier, you work too hard. You need to be with your own sometimes. Take Ziri into the fields for a while. Come back only when you’ve relaxed.”

            Before Madrigal can protest that _they are her own_ , Issa’s swept them to the edge of Brimstone’s compound and out the gates.

            Issa waves at them, her expression bright and the snakes on her body slithering around, excited.

            Madrigal feels as though she’s being hoisted off for some reason or another, but it’s not like she has to spend time with Marco, the awful Sab boy that likes chasing after her sometimes. It’s Ziri, one of Madrigal’s own, the last reminder she has of a world that no longer exists. She knows Ziri likes spending time with her, and she also knows that she doesn’t give the little boy as much attention as he deserves. She’s been meaning to make it up to him—for all the little favors, all the hugs he’s given her—and Issa’s just given her the chance, regardless of the reason why. “Say,” says Madrigal, “Wanna go and find more dandelions?”

            Ziri grins, a toothy smile so wide and bright Madrigal feels as though the war could end, if only they could see this little, broken Kirin boy’s happiness.

~*~

            Madrigal and Ziri fly to the fields just outside of the caged city. Normally, flying for Madrigal would mean showing off how many air-somersaults she could do before getting dizzy, but with Ziri only recently having learned how to fly for more than a few minutes at a time, Madrigal spends most of the journey behind him, making sure he doesn’t startle, seize up, and then fall, and also occasionally offering words of encouragement.

            Madrigal lands in the field as gracefully as a swan landing in water; her hooves barely imprint the soft grass when she pulls herself back to her full height. The blanket covering the basket doesn’t have a single wrinkle in it, despite her dive to make sure Ziri didn’t hit a rather ancient looking tree around the border of Loramendi. Ziri, however, tumbles into the grass and lands on his tiny, still budding antlers, and his legs dangling awkwardly in the air.

            Madrigal sees him flailing and chuckles. “Oh, Ziri.” She picks him up and sets him down on his legs, though he sways a little bit. “Are you alright?”

            “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, kicking at the dirt.

            “Good! Was that your first big-kid flight?”

            “No! I’ve done them lots. I think I’ve done three hundred by now!” He pouts, his nose wrinkling.

            “Three hundred! That’s even more than me!” exclaims Madrigal, laughing. “I think I’ve only done like, twenty-six!”

            “You’re so good and you’ve only done twenty-six? But—”

            “Don’t worry too much about it, Zir, when you’re as big as me, you’re going to be a flyer so good people will beg you to fly for them.”

            “You really think so?” His soft, brown eyes are wide again, this time shining with hope.

            “I know so. So do you want to eat a little something? You hungry?”

            Ziri nods. Madrigal hands him the blanket and, holding on to an edge, he throws the blanket into the air, the curve of checkered blue and white settling in the grass the way the first snow falls. They sit down, half facing each other, half facing down the field to the the great iron bars that cage Loramendi. The winged chimera that patrol the skies soar above them, some of them waving as they pass overhead.

            Madrigal reaches into the basket and pulls out various tins and a waterskin. She spreads each of the tins between her and Ziri. Ziri helps her open them and they grin at each other when they see an assortment of jerky, dried fruit, nuts, little hard-shelled candies, a few apple preserve sandwiches, and an entire tin full of Yasri’s famous Kirin-style macarons.

            “Wow!” exclaims Ziri, grabbing a handfull of candies. “No wonder Brimstone’s so big!”

            “Nah,” Madrigal says, helping herself to the macarons, “those are just Brimstone’s bones.”

            “Those are really big bones,” Ziri says, solemn. “Do you think he wished himself that big?”

            Madrigal pretends to consider this, even though Issa's told her the real story about how the Wishmonger freed himself from slavery. “Maybe. What if—what if it was the seraphim who made him that big—like—they tried to do their magic on him but it backfired—”

            “And then he got so mad, he took out an entire legion of angels and set the chimera free!”

            “That makes so much sense,” Madrigal says. “How else could he have done it?”

            “Maybe he had some snakes to help him? I dunno…”

            “Can you imagine it? Brimstone and Dahn, fighting an entire legion of smelly angels—they should write stories about it.”

            “I’ll do it!” Ziri exclaims, jumping up. “I’ll write stories and plays and we’ll show the whole world!”

            “The whole world? Even the angels?”

            “ _Especially_ the angels.”

            “You’re probably going to scare them silly,” says Madrigal.

            Ziri laughs, a laugh that is pure blissful, childish glee. The sound reminds Madrigal of a time long forgotten, a time she can never get back again. “That’s exactly what I’m gonna do.”

~*~

            The two Kirin children spend the rest of the afternoon eating, talking, playing games, and plotting the Epic of Brimstone. Ziri falls asleep a little before the sunset, and Madrigal takes the chance to explore the field. Madrigal remembers how some of the elder chimera down in the city say this used to be a place where all the children of the chimera tribes that shared the land around Loramendi would come to play, without fear they would be swept up in some of the pettier, more bloody intertribal disputes. Some even say that this land was marked sacrosanct by Ellai and Nitid themselves—they longed for children of their own, but understood that it could never be. This truly is, Madrigal realizes, once she’s seen a marking of both the goddesses in a nearly worn away headstone, one of the few places devoted to both goddesses, one of the few patches of nature that has yet to be tainted by the spilled blood of children and their mothers.

            Madrigal, having caught sight of nothing else more interesting than a few rabbit-squirrels and ground-sparrows, starts to pick the vibrantly colored wildflowers that grow in the field, wondering if she can weave them into crowns like her adoptive sister Chiro can. Every flower looks beautifully striking against her sister’s dark fur, and Madrigal often wishes she could pull off a crown of poppies in the same way.

            There are no poppies in these fields though, only violets, daisies, dandelions, clovers, and blue flaxflowers. Madrigal grabs just enough to twist into crowns and heads back to where Ziri is curled up, half his body buried under the dark stretch of his wings.

            To Madrigal’s surprise, Ziri is awake, the little five year old’s eyes watching her the way some of the girls she knows watch the Warlord’s younger sons. Chiro teases her sometimes about Ziri, saying he’s got a crush on her, that he trails her like her shadow. Madrigal doesn’t mind the teasing, not when being near her makes Ziri happy, makes him smile and forget that he is an orphan, a child of an endless war. “Look what I brought,” she says, dumping the flowers on the blanket. Ziri sits up, stretching his wings and his arms.

            “Flowers?”

            “Can I make you a flower crown? Just to thank you for the pretty dandelion before.”

            “Where’d it go?” He points to her ear, now covered only with her unruly hair.

            Madrigal smiles and opens one of the tins that held the dried fruit. “I put it in here so it’d be safe. I didn’t want to lose it.”

            Ziri grins. Madrigal notices he’s still missing a tooth, right before his molars. Was it only yesterday that he showed her his first baby tooth cupped in his cubby palms? Pretty soon he’ll be as big as her, ready to start working, even to start training for the Warlord’s army. Madrigal hopes that day never comes; she hopes he never has the hardness in his eyes that the soldiers do, like they’ve been to hell but never escaped.

            “It took me a whole minute to pull it out.” He shows her his palms, as if he has scars from his adventure.

            “A whole minute? Well, dandelions can be stubborn.” She puts a flaxflower in his palm, the petals a rich and vibrant blue in the sand-colored fuzz of his palm.

            “Not as stubborn as me!” The flower falls between his fingers and lands next to a daisy.

            Madrigal laughs. She starts to twist the stems of the flowers together, wondering if it’ll hold, or whether they’ll fall apart and shower them with flowers instead. Ziri watches her intensely. “My sister says that if you make a wish and weave it into the crown, it’ll come true,” she says, when she sees him watching her.

            “Can I try?” he asks, suddenly shy.

            “Of course!” She pushes a pile of flowers to him, and he, though clumsier than Madrigal, begins to tie the stems together, copying the older girl as best he can.

            They work—concentrating on making sure the flowers hold—in silence for a while. The sun soon starts lowering the last of its rays over them, casting the whole world in a soft, hazy, pinkish glow. Finally, right after Madrigal’s gingerly positioned her crown around her antlers, Ziri plunks his rather bare crown of more stems than petals on top of his head, his horn buds making it slightly lopsided. Madrigal giggles and reaches over to fix his crown, and Ziri closes his eyes, as though receiving a blessing.

            They turn to the sunset and watch as night starts to fall over Loramendi, as Nitid peeks her fair head through the veil of spreading starry darkness.

           “What did you wish for?” asks Ziri, leaning slightly into Madrigal’s arms, his eyes drooping.

           “I wished for Brimstone to teach me how to make wishes,” she says, only _faintly_ aware that if her wish comes true, she only need make more flower crowns. “What did you wish for, little Ziri?”

           Ziri yawns, then he looks up at Madrigal, his soft, baby face still bathed in the last rays of sunlight, his flower crown slightly askew again. “I wished you’ll always be my friend.”

           Madrigal smiles and wraps her arm around him, pulling his small body close, under the protection of her wings. “I wish you’ll always be my friend too.”

**Author's Note:**

> I made myself emotional over Issa and Ziri while writing this. It's also about 5:50 in the morning. I have a 15 page story due on the 30th, but here I am, writing fanfiction instead. I regret nothing. #yolo
> 
> (also b/c there aren't enough kirin bonding fics)
> 
> Madrigal, Ziri, Issa,Twiga, Yasri, Brimstone, Loramendi, and a few details belong to Laini Taylor, everything else is my own.


End file.
